


Windblown

by Haurvatat



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Forgive Me, M/M, Oh god, What Have I Done, i don't know what happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1461238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haurvatat/pseuds/Haurvatat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat gets home from the night job.  Has a couple of ideas.  Not necessarily GOOD ideas, mind.  Just ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Windblown

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Real Men Wear Tights](https://archiveofourown.org/works/469179) by [Bananaramses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bananaramses/pseuds/Bananaramses), [SergeantMeow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SergeantMeow/pseuds/SergeantMeow). 



> Why. God why. I'm not proud. At some point I told myself, "It's cool Bry. It's never gonna see the light of day, anyway." You see how well that went.

Karkat grabbed the zipper on his chest and pulled down.  Sweet Jesus, the cool air of his room felt great.  The skin-tight fabric of his costume breathed a little, but not enough to make it 100% comfortable for long stretches.  Fuck, it had been one hell of a night though – wild from start to finish.

He’d seen the explosion quite a ways away by the docks before he’d heard it, the sound taking a while to travel the distance.  By the time he’d made it all the way over there (he missed the sheer covenience of flight more every hour), the building was already nine kinds of screwed and the Fire Department had only just arrived.  Satisfied that no one was inside who might need saving, Karkat had begun looking around for culprits.

And then he’d seen the little spotlight on a roof, clearly not intended for anyone from law enforcement.  A crumpled note to the side, obviously balled up by the first person to find it.  Heir.  He was flying straight into a trap because he had no other choice.  Ability to control body temperature or no, Karkat’s blood had run cold.  Gangsters.  Really?  Organized crime?  Two weeks into the job.  For fuck’s sake.  It wasn’t going to stop him from diving in horns-first, though.  There was no way in hell he was going to let Heir deal with that whole mess alone.  Much as he admired the hero, he had to accept that even Heir had limits, and if they were pressed, they could get him hurt or… killed.  Yeah, no.  Karkat was not going to let that happen.  Not in this lifetime.

He showed up.  Saw what they’d done to his hero.  Beat the ever-loving shit out of as many of them as he could grab while also trying not to get shot.  Made a new partner.  Interrogated a guy.  Talked about his feelings and held hands with the man he’d been crushing on for the last year and a half and damn near combusted because of it.  He really couldn’t decide if he was miserable that Heir was hurting emotionally or over the moon that the person Heir chose to lean on in his moment of weakness was Karkat himself.  Well, Hemogoblin, technically, but that was an existential argument for another time.

It had been a little weird for a minute, there.

Filling a pool with blood?  Seriously?  _This fucking dork_.

And that thought alone had filled him with surprise, because normally it had been a very John thing to say and a very Karkat-reacting-to-John thing to think.  That look on Heir’s face when he’d realized what he’d just blurted out was so John it wasn’t even funny.  And then the resemblance had faded as they kept talking.  Just little moments of familiarity, but they were still jarring.

Karkat pulled off his boots and undid the buttons on his hood, dissolving the fake horns back into his bloodstream.  For once, his feet weren’t killing him, mostly because he’d spent a good portion of the night sitting down with Heir.  Just talking like they’d known each other forever.

Heir and John, huh?  Come to think of it, they had more similar qualities, mostly in the looks department.  There were loads of internet groupies who drew fanart, trying to imagine what Heir would look like with the mask and goggles gone.  They varied greatly, but a few had looked so much like John that Karkat had been a little creeped out and hit the Back button violently on his browser.  At least nobody had gotten the two front teeth John-levels of gargantuan.  _That_ would have been icing on the guess-you’re-not-jacking-off-tonight cake.

 Speaking of which…

 He’d just been holding hands with his crush.

 The whole night.

 After mutually saving each other’s lives, with adrenaline and teenage hormones running crazy.

 Karkat had half-killed himself trying to keep his skin-tight suit from showing anything… untoward.  Now, he was in his own room in his own home and nobody would see if he just…

 He shoved the rest of his suit down, kicking it off onto the floor.  He’d wash it properly in the morning.  He reached to pull the gloves off next, but stopped halfway.  It might just be better for his fantasies if he kept them on, pretending like they were someone else’s gloves.

 Stupid brain had been thinking about Heir and John, and so of course it went straight to a very strange fantasy of getting the two of them in a room.  Karkat would be first in line to admit that while he was not _that_ kind of attracted to John, the man was a sculpted frickin’ swimming Adonis.  Too much of a dweeb to pull off the “sexy” vibe, but still damn attractive even without trying.

 In his head, Karkat could see Heir pushing a naked John down backwards onto a bedspread, leaning over him in a crouch.  John wrapping his arms and legs around the hero, yanking him down, Heir pulling down his mask (right at an angle where Karkat couldn’t see anything, of course) for a long kiss.  John making needy whimpering noises, trying to pull Heir even closer.  Heir chuckling slightly as a hand reached for a bottle by the nightstand.

 “Not yet.  Be patient.  I don’t want to hurt you,” Heir said.

 “Just… hurry up.  God, _please_ ,” John whispered.

 “I’ve got you.”  Heir sliding down a bit to kiss at John’s neck, bared more than was necessarily decent.  Murmuring things Karkat couldn’t make out into warm flesh and chuckling a little when John pushed into his lips, sounding pissy and impatient.  “If you’re sure.”  And with that, lubing up his still-gloved fingers,  gently massaging his way into John’s body, the boy going limp underneath him.

 “F-fuck.  Ngh.”

 “You’re feeling that?  Good.  It’s okay; I’ll go slow.”

 John just nodding his head, not really able to respond properly.

 Karkat let his own fingers drift between his legs, not-really-consciously deciding to share sensations as much as he could with fantasy-John.  He let out a groan at the first touch.  This wet already?  He was going to have to speed things up in his head.  What John didn't know wouldn't get Karkat dumped.

 Heir getting to the point where he could work three fingers inside of John easily.  John gaining just enough motor control to thrust down onto those fingers, moaning and begging for more.  Heir, gentleman that he was, acquiesing and laying a kiss on John’s cheek while undoing his belt buckle and pulling open the front of his pants with his free hand.  Lubing up that magnificent cock, pulling John’s knees over his shoulders, gentle kisses and constant affirmations that this was, indeed, okay.  Lining up.  Pushing in slowly.

 At the first touch, John letting out one of the most indecent groans Karkat had ever not-heard.  Breathing heavily and clutching at Heir’s back, John trying to push himself down onto the hero’s cock as much as he could.

 “Shh, shh… slow, remember?  You haven’t done this before.”

 “Don’t care.  I don’t care – Jesus, _fuck,_ Heir…  Please.  So damn empty.”

 Gentle nuzzling.  “Not for long, John.”  The final push and the long slide all the way inside.  A loud, keening wail from John.  “Tell me when you’re ready.”

 Karkat had three fingers inside of himself, already pissed that there wasn’t anything bigger he had lying around to go in.  It just wasn’t enough.  So he might not have had to funds to go sex-toy shopping, but he couldn’t have found anything to substitute?

 Not that he was going to give up on this particular fantasy.  He should be feeling fucking awful about thinking of his moirail that way, but… it was too hot to be worried about just now.  He’d have a mental crisis after getting off.  Maybe he could put it off ‘til morning.

 Heir starting out thrusting slowly, John twitching and thrashing underneath him, loudly declaring it “not enough”.  Heir roughly pulling the mask down all the way and slamming their lips together, grabbing John’s clutching hands by the forearms and forcing them up above his head while thrusting, the wind whipping around the bedspread and through both of their hair.  Jesus Christ, he was using the wind behind him to fuck John even harder.  John screaming into Heir’s mouth, writhing, toes curling where they were still wrapped around Heir’s waist.  Heir pushing John’s wrists together so he could hold the other boy down with one hand, the other reaching between them to curl around John’s dick and give it a tug along the whole length.  John looking like he was having a fucking seizure, his voice weakening and fading with his eyes rolling back into his head, unable to control the movements of his own body.  A gasping groan from Heir and a soft sigh of release from John and they were collapsing together, boneless.

 Karkat had actually resorted to using a dildo made of his own blood at that point.  God, could this get a little more fucked up? Not without putting in some very real effort.  At least he could reform it constantly to ensure it would hit him _right there_ with every thrust.  He couldn’t get the pinned form of John or the protective, loving arch of Heir’s back out of his head.  The noises that never really happened.  He slammed his makeshift toy into himself as hard as he could, not caring if it was starting to hurt.  At this point, nothing was going to be enough.  Karkat grabbed hold of his bulge, squeezing along with the rhythm of his thrusts, letting out tiny gasps of his own.

 Heir pushing his face closer to John’s.  Kissing his neck.  Whispering, “Love you.”

 Weirdly, that was what did it.  Fucking hell.

 Karkat just lay there in the aftermath, breathing like he’d run a marathon.  What the hell did he just do?

 One thing was for sure.

 He’d never look at John’s wind-tousled hair the same way again.

Well, two things for sure. The second being that he was going to a very special level of Hell.


End file.
